


Gutter-Rat

by maximum_overboner



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A friend of mine loves beat up Junkrat and I'm happy to oblige, A... Very violent slice of life, Dark Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Roadhog isn't one for traditional displays of affection, Slice of Life, Sort of sappy but in its... own way, They're both terrible people but I love them dearly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:42:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maximum_overboner/pseuds/maximum_overboner
Summary: Junkrat breaks the cardinal rules of the chase; keep a weapon handy and be careful where you piss.





	Gutter-Rat

**Author's Note:**

> for vanilla-crab! you deplorable sadist

Junkrat couldn’t cope with it being cold in October. It just wasn’t correct. The sun should be blazing overhead and yet here they were, walking outside in weather that didn’t seem to be bothering anyone else but was cutting him down to the bone. He wasn’t equipped to deal with chills, he thought, drawing his jacket tighter and glancing to his travelling companion. He didn’t even feel the urge to tear his own shirt off, a rarity. Roadhog, stalwart as always, nodded back. Blending in forced him to confine his mask to the large gym bag he was lugging, as well as their weapons, so he made do with a scarf wrapped around his face and pulled up and over his nose, and a thick coat with a hood to obscure the rest until only his eyes and a thin patch of skin was visible. They were, for the first time in their lives, dressed appropriately, and Junkrat resisted the urge to cackle, strip naked and hump a lamppost just to cast off the shackles of conformity. But for a stunt as big as this he could bear the itch.  
  
The Crown Jewels. _The_ Crown Jewels. The thought made him slaver. He suppressed a giddy laugh and looked out over the bridge.  
  
“The Thames, ey?”  
  
He waited to be overwhelmed by its historical significance, as did Roadhog.  
  
“It’s kinda brown,” Junkrat said.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“You think fish live in here?”  
  
“A couple I reckon. Wouldn’t eat ‘em.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“An omnium’s waste flows into it.”  
  
Junkrat made a face.  
  
“That’s this place going up in flames, then. Shame. I wanted to see a show.”  
  
It was odd, the cold made his prosthetic limb far more nimble, the heated components cooling off and working efficiently, but it gave his fleshy hand the dexterity of a slice of ham. He fumbled at a protein bar before cramming it into his maw; his meal for the day. He liked the chocolate ones the most.  
  
“I thought about just bombing the front ‘n sauntering in but we’ll be shot. We’ll get the jewels, though. Don’t fret. With all the omnic rubbish going on everyone will be too distracted to worry about us.”  
  
“I always fret.”  
  
“Then don’t! Be more like me.”  
  
“That’d get us killed.”  
  
“Wrong! That would get you killed. I’m used to being me.”  
  
He giggled. Roadhog smirked in amusement, but it couldn’t be seen. He was glad for this.  
  
“D’you like the names I picked out for us?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Sure you do, _Alfred Reginald Oxbridge the Seventh.”_  
  
Junkrat pointed extravagantly to himself.  
  
“And your associate; Axel Diamond.”  
  
“They’re shit names. Surprised they let us in with ‘em.”  
  
“First of all that’s very rude, second of all I think they’re great. And I already have the IDs. So we’re stuck with ‘em for now, Roadie.”  
  
He caught himself.  
  
“-- Oxbridge.”  
  
“I’m still calling you rat.”  
  
“That’s just tradition! That’s sacred.”  
  
They continued their walk, Junkrat’s odd gait and Roadhog’s immense stature drawing glances but nothing more. They had nowhere in mind. When they arrived in a new location, they had taken to walking together to gather their thoughts and formulate plans, and to take it in before they blew it to bits. Like taking a picture of a meal at a restaurant. Before they knew it, they found themselves in King’s Row, the upmarket buildings plastered with anti-omnic graffiti and posters. The sight of such opulent history desecrated brought a delighted smile to Junkrat’s face, as he took the time to enthuse over the state of things. The streets were quiet and uneasy, and it was growing dark. With their funds nearly depleted this would be a good a place as any to sleep rough. They came upon a bench, sitting down, both of them weighing up this particular spot.  
  
“Been thinking on a way we can get into the tower,” Junkrat said. “But we’ll need to hit a few chemists.”  
  
“Fine.”  
  
“Great! With my wit and stunning intelligence we should be good to go in about… Four days.”  
  
“You said two on the boat here.”  
  
“I’ve said a lot of things to a lot of people over the years. Listen here, Alan--”  
  
“Alfred.”  
  
He caught himself, unhappy that he had become enveloped in the fog that was Junkrat’s idiocy.  
  
“-- No, no, _Mako--”_  
  
“-- Listen here, Aaron. The time will do us good. I’m as unhappy as you are about laying low, but we need to scope out this place. Be real sneaky like. This seems like a good a place as any to set up. City centre, easy access to the rest of London. We just have to sleep rough for a bit; we’ve done that before. It’s time for us to stop for a bit. Need a piss, anyway.”  
  
Roadhog nodded to a cafe nearby. Junkrat peered over and squinted.  
  
“... Payin’ customers only.”  
  
“Then buy something. We’ve got a little cash left.”  
  
“When there’s an entire world out there? And I thought we were the thieves. I’ll just nip around the back. We’re already wanted for, what, eighty-six counts of murder now?”  
  
“Give or take.”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t think ‘public urination’ is gonna add a lot to our prison sentence. Back in a tick.”  
  
Junkrat stood, glancing left and right, making his way to the backstreet. Roadhog following behind. Junkrat stopped at the entrance to it, exasperated.

“What are you doing.”  
  
“Guarding your body. Like you’re paying me to do.”  
  
“I can’t do it if you’re right there, I’ll get piss-jitters. You’ll give me anxiety.”  
  
“Fine. Whatever. If something goes wrong start screaming, I’ll come in.”  
  
“But sometimes I just scream for no reason.”  
  
“Have one this time.”  
  
Junkrat rolled his eyes, walking away and disappearing around the corner. Roadhog braced his back against the wall, crossing his arms and hearing the ‘tink tink’ of Junkrat’s metal leg against the concrete tap away to near nothing hypnotically. There was silence, then a single tap as he made his way back before he heard a heavy, meaty thud and the sound of several feet smacking the ground. Then there was a distant, echoing crack, then another, and another.  
  
_“Mako!”_  
  
Roadhog grumbled, pulled his gun from the bag and thundered in. He was met with Junkat cowering in the fetal position on the damp ground, both arms pulled over his head as four strangers kicked him, doing their best to beat his skull in. Streaks of red, pink foam leaking from his mouth. Roadhog’s rage was as profound as it was quiet.  
  
_“S--Stop! Stop! Mako, help-- stop!”_  
  
Roadhog looked at the one nearest, with his back turned. Two humans and a robot. Good, he needed more ammo.  
  
Junkrat was pathetic, mewling like an alleycat. “I’ll kill the lot of ya,” he yowled, “when I’m done-- you’ll--”  
  
The tallest, bald and in a suit, spat on him.  
  
“You’re fucked, ‘n--”  
  
Roadhog placed a large hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Eighty-nine.”  
  
“What?”  
  
Roadhog shot him in the face. He hit the ground, twitching, and Roadhog set his sights on the bot. He raised his hands, standing to the side of Junkrat rather than truly participating.  
  
“I just--”  
  
Roadhog shot him in the face. Hot shrapnel rained on his partner’s skull but he welcomed it as a sign of rescue.  
  
The last, a teenager by the looks of it, dropped to his knees. If Roadhog were to guess, he had been forced into this. Mob?  
  
“Please let me live.”  
  
“Fine,” Roadhog grunted, “start running.”  
  
The boy stumbled to his feet, breaking into a sprint. Roadhog, with beastly strength, threw his hook out, snapped it around his neck, pulled it in and shot him in the face. Junkrat was prone, looking up at him.  
  
“The last one always starts screaming,” Roadhog said. “Easier to give ‘em false hope, then deal with it.”  
  
“... Good one.”  
  
Roadhog grunted in thanks. He squatted, surveying the damage.  
  
It was difficult to see in the light, but Junkrat had his knees tucked to his chest. He peeled them away, his breaths rattling, and his mechanical arm finally fell to bits. There was a hollow where his prosthetic leg sat, smashed in the short time it had taken for Roadhog to arrive, leaving a trail of rusted plate and metal that ground and snapped underfoot. Roadhog hesitated, then scooped him up, holding him in his arms. Junkrat’s breaths were rattling, thin.  
  
“That count as… A good… Excuse?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Worst part? Kicked my balls. Seen ‘em before--”  
  
“Recognise ‘em?”  
  
“-- Don’t know any personally, but I saw the bald one when we were walking earlier, the bot too. We’re being tailed by more than the police now.”  
  
“Great.”  
  
“You love a challenge.”  
  
“You’re bleeding.”  
  
“Chin up; I’m not dead yet.”  
  
“That’d probably cheer me up.”  
  
Junkrat cackled before it degenerated into pained wheezing.  
  
“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts! They must’a thought you were busy, or they could get answers before you arrived. Rookies. Better they’re dead; we’ve just saved whatever ‘business’ they work for a lot of ballache. They’re gonna start sending out the bigger guns now, one hell of a bounty on us--”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Junkrat motioned with the arm he had left.  
  
“What happened-- they tried to cave my ribs in, Roadie! What sort of question is that! Bastards came out of the fire exit, must be the café-- ugh--”  
  
Roadhog raised his brows. Walking in and buying something might have killed him. It wasn’t just the odd arrogant bounty hunter anymore, it was something far better orchestrated and a lot harder to evade. His stomach sank.  
  
“You fight back at least?”  
  
“Yeah. I tried. Using the notorious short range weapon. Bombs. They got the jump on me. Go make sure the bald cunt is dead.”  
  
Roadhog looked at the indecipherable pink paste plastered to a bin, where the head used to be.  
  
“Yup.”  
  
“Good. That’s the bastard that broke my teeth.”  
  
He hollered to the corpse.  
  
“Who’s got no teeth now you bald bastard! It’s you! It’s you that doesn’t have the teeth! Don’t have no face, either.”

Junkrat gently brought his palm to his chest and pressed, stopping when he yelped.  
  
“Broken ribs. Broke my prosthetics too, the twats.”  
  
His speech was whistling. He sighed.  
  
“Great. Teeth, too. I thought I looked too handsome, lately. Kind of ‘em to fix that.”  
  
They were both silent.  
  
“This is the part where you’re meant to tell me I still look glowing, Roadie.”  
  
“I can call the guy that smuggled us in, get the chopper. You good to sit in the sidecar?”  
  
“No, but it’s that or you strap me to the front like a hood ornament. Least it’s just ribs. Don’t need a doctor for those, I think, they just fix themselves.”  
  
Roadhog looked to him with concern, masked with contempt.  
  
“Don’t get to be as beloved as me without a few attempts on your life! Not the first time this has happened.”  
  
“The second?”

“Eleventh, actually. Gonna have to change my callsign to Jumped-Rat after this.”  
  
Their location gave them some leniency. The police didn’t like coming to this part of town, murder was rife, as were firearms, and while the rest of London remained as civilized as always it was generally accepted that King’s Row was the little pocket of hell tucked neatly away, despite its shiny facade, with nobody wanting to really acknowledge it. It reminded Roadhog of the Outback. He felt a homesickness he didn’t know he had ease into nothing.  
  
“There’s a moral, here,” Junkrat sighed, speaking difficult, “turn your back to piss and get kicked in the face.”  
  
Roadhog looked at him. Junkrat’s breaths were ragged, but even when he was in searing agony he couldn’t shut up.  
  
“Don’t know what it means, but it’s probably really profound... Makes you think, don’t it.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Of course you don’t do the thinking; I’m the genius. Credit where it’s due. They skipped the questions and went straight to beating it out of me. Most try bribes first.”  
  
Roadhog grunted in acknowledgement.  
  
“Tell ‘em where the treasure was?”  
  
“Pfft, no. Have to take a buzzsaw to my balls for that one.”  
  
“I dunno how many there are. Don’t give anyone left ideas.”  
  
“Good thinking. Not just a pretty face, are you.”  
  
Junkrat took a deep a breath as he could manage. Roadhog heard sirens and cursed.  
  
“I hate bubble baths! I hate back massages and being tugged off under the moonlight by the men’s Olympic volleyball team!”  
  
They were met with silence.  
  
“Worth a try.”  
  
He hacked, spluttering up blood, and Roadhog instinctively gripped him tighter in a way that made Junkrat giddy, even if it was from blood loss.  
  
“You really care, don’t you? Really, I mean.”  
  
“You aren’t kickin’ the bucket yet. You still owe me the treasure.”  
  
Junkrat laughed, wet, burbling and deeply affectionate. He spat to clear his mouth, blood sticking to the corners as the teeth he had left were painted red. Junkrat cupped Roadhog’s face, over his scarf, with his hand, sticky and pungent with blood. Roadhog neither leant into it nor denied him.  
  
“You can act as hard as you want but that excuse don’t fly no more, Roadie. I told you where I hid it two months ago.”


End file.
